


Beyond Memory

by Misdemeanor1331



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Doctor/Patient, F/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misdemeanor1331/pseuds/Misdemeanor1331
Summary: Lucius lost his memories during the war. Hermione is tasked with recovering them. Draco isn’t sure he wants her to.





	Beyond Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for the 2017 DramioneLove Mini Fest on LiveJournal. My prompt was submitted by RZZMG: An accident during the war left Lucius without his memories & Narcissa dead. Hermione, the hired healer, comes to Malfoy Manor daily to see to Lucius' medical needs. They become friends, much to Draco's irritation.
> 
> Thanks to my beta, eilonwy, for her time and encouragement.
> 
> Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Beyond Memory**

Hermione tries not to fidget as she waits at the entrance to Malfoy Manor. She isn’t quite sure what to expect, least of all Draco deigning to greet her. She does expect him to look annoyed, however, and though their face-to-face is earlier than she thought it would be, he does not disappoint. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks. 

“I’m here for your father. I’m his Healer.” 

He looks at her askance, and she hands him her identification badge. He hands it back to her. 

“Memory Specialist. What does that mean?” 

She frowns. “I thought the Healers had briefed you on the in-home care portion of your father’s treatment.” 

Draco crosses his arms before his chest and leans against the doorframe. 

“Remind me.” 

Her pleading look gets her nowhere. “Bellatrix hit your father with a strong variant of the Obliviate spell. Under optimal conditions, Obliviation requires exacting precision, so to have it cast in battle is unprecedented. Since your father is now healthy enough to be released from St. Mungo’s, I’m responsible to assess what, if anything, can be done to reverse his memory loss.” 

“Is that possible?” 

“I won’t know until you let me in.” 

She’s afraid he’ll refuse; the look on his face indicates that he’d like to. But he steps aside, and Hermione relaxes. She follows him through the manor to a large pair of carved doors. 

“He spends most of his time in his study. I should warn you, Granger, he’s not -” 

“I’ll decide what he is or isn’t, Malfoy.” 

And, with her shoulders set, she steps into the study and closes the door behind her. 

~*~*~

Hermione spends forty hours per week with his father, and Draco watches as their relationship turns from formal to friendly. Perhaps it’s to be expected. Lucius has lost everything, after all, and thus far his companions have been limited to overburdened Healers, Draco, and the family’s remaining elf. But no matter the justification, their friendship feels like an injustice, almost a betrayal. After all, Draco has lived with the man for over twenty years and still feels as though he must stand on ceremony for something as casual as breakfast. 

He doesn’t think he’s frowning, but he must be, because Hermione gives him a strange look when she exits Lucius’ study for the week. 

“Everything okay?” 

He wants to answer with snark. Lucius can’t remember anything about his life before the war, Draco’s now responsible for running his family’s business without any notion of how, exactly, to do so, and Hermione has insinuated herself into the middle of it all. So, no, everything is decidedly _not_ okay. But he can’t say that. 

“Fine,” he answers instead. Her expression indicates that she knows he’s lying. “Any progress this week?” 

“A little. My diagnostic scans haven’t shown either repair or deterioration in his brain. He is improving in his cognition and memory tests, however. I suggest you continue engaging him in the puzzles and activities we’ve discussed. He is also endeavoring to teach me chess,” she says with a faint smile. 

Draco’s heart gives a funny twitch; Lucius had taught _him_ chess as a child. They had played on Sundays. 

Hermione notices, and her expression falls. 

“That’s a positive sign,” Draco says, trying to recover. “He must be improving faster than you thought.” 

“It’s more complicated than that. Bellatrix’s curse affected your father’s memories as well as his personality, and since we don’t fully understand the nature of the spell she used, we can’t estimate how much improvement is possible. St. Mungo’s was able to recover many of his formative, long-term memories - namely his childhood, his education, and your existence. Why, then, does he not remember other significant events, like Voldemort, the war, or your mother’s -” 

“I don’t need a lecture.” 

Hermione inhales in a sharp, affronted way, but her voice remains calm. “Personality is a question of nature _and_ nurture. Lucius lost a lifetime of nurture, a lifetime of context by which to live his life. So, what remains?” She lets the question hang for a moment. “Healing him is more than just returning him to beloved activities. It’s rediscovering _who he is_.” She pauses, then asks, “Malfoy, are you sure you’re okay?” 

Her look is so sincere that he almost loses it. Almost admits that living with a lifetime of memories is almost as difficult as living without them. 

“Fine, Granger,” is all he can bring himself to say. 

~*~*~

Draco and Lucius meet at the back entrance for a walk. Lucius starts to head toward the garden, but Draco sets his path firmly in the other direction, toward the forest. 

“How do you find Granger?” Draco asks, his tone carefully light. 

“Ms. Granger,” Lucius corrects. “And she’s positively charming. Intelligent, witty, creative, and not at all condescending, like some of those St. Mungo’s Healers were.” 

The string of compliments proves to Draco, not for the first time, that hatred and prejudice have no intrinsic source, and are instead learned over the course of a life. A bubble of shame and resentment at his own education in those subjects grows in his chest. He shoves it down, however. Now is not the time to think about it. 

“You get on well?” 

Lucius gives him a sideways glance. “I should ask you the same question.” 

“ _Father_.” 

“Well, why ever not? She’s your age, pleasant, attractive. You could do much worse.” 

“She’s not interested. And neither am I,” he amends quickly. “Besides, she’s here for you, not for me.” 

“Why can’t she be here for both of us? We could invite her for tea, or perhaps she could stay for supper one evening.” 

Draco sighs and stares out at the forest. “There’s more to it than that. Ms. Granger and I have a history. We weren’t always _cordial_ to one another.” 

“Did I know her? From before?” Lucius asks, brow furrowed. 

Draco hesitates. “Do you remember something?” 

Lucius shakes his head. “It’s not a memory. More of a feeling.” 

“What kind? Ms. Granger says discussing these things will help your recovery,” he presses after a minute of silence. 

Lucius gives him an annoyed, side-eyed glare, and Draco smiles; for a moment, it is as if nothing has changed. 

“I feel that, if I did know her from before, I wasn’t always cordial to her, either. But that’s impossible,” he continues dismissively. “How could I not have liked her?” 

Draco bites his tongue and wonders, not for the first time, if Hermione’s task of restoring his father’s memories is one better left undone. 

~*~*~

Thanks to Lucius’ machinations, they lunch together on a balmy afternoon. 

“So, Draco, what sort of charity work has Malfoy Enterprises been supporting?” Intention lurks beneath his father’s polite smile. 

“Women’s shelters and Hogwarts repairs,” Draco answers, maintaining steady eye contact with Lucius. 

“And we’ve recently made a sizable donation to St. Mungo’s, have we not?” his father continues, heedless of Draco’s cautionary expression. 

“Yes,” he answers, somewhat stiffly. “The Spell Damage ward.” 

Lucius smiles and turns to Hermione, who looks between Draco and Lucius with surprise. 

“I received such wonderful care,” Lucius says, patting Hermione’s hand and drawing her gaze away from Draco. “It was the least we could do.” 

“I know it will be put to good use,” Hermione says, smiling gratefully at them both. 

“And will you be doing any overseas work in the upcoming months, Draco?” Then, turning to Hermione: “Did you know Draco speaks four different languages, Ms. Granger?” 

Draco cuts in before his father’s intentions become even more obvious. “Father, I doubt Granger - _Ms_. Granger - wants to hear about business on a day like this.” 

“Perhaps you’re right. What do you say to a tour of the garden?” Lucius rises from his chair and gestures toward the overgrown hedges. “My wife...” 

Three pairs of eyes widen, then Lucius’ squeeze shut, as if enduring a terrible pain. Draco is at his side in a moment, taking his father’s full weight as the man’s knees buckle. It only lasts a moment before Hermione supports his other side. 

“Sit down, Father,” Draco says, steering Lucius toward the chair. 

“No, I’m quite all right. Just a bit of a headache.” 

Draco and Hermione share a brief, panicked look behind Lucius’ back. 

“Let’s go inside,” Hermione suggests. 

Together, they lead Lucius into the manor. Hermione gives the garden a last, speculative look as the door closes behind her. 

~*~*~

A shout. A scream. A crash. 

Draco sprints across the manor’s ground floor toward his father’s study, his shoes slipping on the marble as he takes the corners. 

He hears Hermione pleading. 

“Lucius, calm down, please. Let me explain, let me -” 

A thud. A gasp. 

Draco bursts through the door and assesses the scene in a second, flashing back to the worst parts of his childhood: his father, furious and snarling, standing over a frightened, bleeding Muggleborn, his wand trained on her chest. 

Draco draws his wand on his father. 

“Step away from her.” 

Their grey eyes meet. Draco recognizes the man behind them, and wishes he didn’t. 

“She _lies_ , Draco. This filthy…” Lucius closes his eyes in a wince and turns his head to the side, jaw clenched, teeth bared. “This _Mudblood_ ,” he hisses. 

“Step away.” Draco advances on his father, positioning himself in front of Hermione. 

Blocking her from his sight helps. Lucius’ wand lowers by a fraction. “Where is Narcissa?” 

Draco’s heart clenches, and he turns his head slightly to speak over his shoulder. “Leave us.” 

Hermione scrambles to her feet. The doors close behind her. Draco sheathes his wand. 

“Sit down, Father. I have something to tell you.” 

~*~*~

He finds Hermione in the kitchen. Her shirtsleeve is torn and dyed brown-red by her drying blood. Her arm is wrapped in a powder blue kitchen towel. Judging by the stains, the wound it covers has yet to stop bleeding. 

“How is he?” she mumbles. 

“How do you think?” he retorts, voice bitter. “Merlin, Granger, you’ve made a mess of things.” 

He takes a seat beside her and reaches for her right arm. 

“It’s fine.” She pulls the limb closer to her body. “I’ll take care of it later.” 

“It is later.” 

Draco reaches for it again, catches the corner of the towel, and tugs. She gasps, but relents. Cradling her arm in one hand, Draco removes the makeshift bandage. A gash the width of his index finger runs across her forearm, spanning nearly from elbow to wrist. 

“It’s shallow. The blood makes it look worse.” 

He conjures a basin and rinses her arm, turning the water light pink. With another wave, he summons Essence of Dittany. She clenches her fist and looks away as he applies it, trembling as steam rises from the newly formed skin. He transfigures a clean towel into a bandage and wraps her forearm, tying it off in a clumsy knot. 

He should let go of her arm, but he doesn’t. She should pull away, but she remains. 

“I should have listened to you,” she whispers, “but he remembered her name. He asked for her. I couldn’t…” 

Her chin quivers, and she hides her face in her left hand. Draco averts his gaze, but takes her right hand in his, entwining his fingers with hers. 

“I told him everything,” he says. “Bellatrix’s curse, Mother’s death, the severity of his memory loss - everything.” 

“And the war? Voldemort?” 

Draco releases a shuddering breath. “Not in any detail, but I can’t see how I can avoid it.” 

Hermione nods, miserable. “I’ve opened Pandora’s box.” 

“Yes, and because of that, we will -” He clears his throat and pulls his hand away. “We will no longer be requiring your services.” 

She nods again and stands. She is steady, even though her heart aches so much it feels as though she might collapse from it. “I’ll inform Mungo’s. They’ll send someone else on Monday.” She forces herself to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Malfoy. I only wanted to help him. I hope you believe that.” 

~*~*~

Draco ushers Hermione inside, and they hurry through the manor together. 

“What happened?” she asks. 

“I don’t know. I thought he was fine after yesterday, all things considered, but this morning… I managed to get him out of bed. It’s like…” He trails off, unable to find the right words to capture the memory of the early days, when Lucius alternated between catatonic silence and violent screaming, and Draco could not decide which was worse. 

The need for explanation disappears when they reach the study. Lucius sits in a chair before the windows, unmoving eyes fixed on the garden. His long, blond hair is unbrushed, and his robe reveals a ‘V’ of pale skin from his neck to his sternum. His cane lies across his lap. 

“Tell me what to do,” Draco whispers, “and I’ll -” 

Hermione brushes past him. 

“Mr. Malfoy?” Her voice is gentle, and Draco’s stomach sinks at her reversion to the honorific. “Mr. Malfoy, I’m Ms. Granger, and -” 

“I know who you are.” Lucius’ voice is low and rasping. 

Her shoulders tense, but she keeps her arms lowered and her wand sheathed at her hip. Draco starts forward, but she waves him off with a subtle straightening of her fingers. 

“Draco sent for me because he’s worried about you. He wants me to help. May I?” 

Lucius’ eyes flick to her, and he stands slowly. Draco takes two steps forward. 

“Father, don’t -” 

Lucius pulls Hermione to him, wraps his arms around her, and begins to sob. Draco wants to run, but the intensity of his father’s emotion roots him in place. To his surprise, Hermione hugs him back. After a long minute, Lucius clears his throat and pushes himself away, holding her at arm’s length. Tears trek down both of her cheeks. 

“I can’t change what I’ve done,” he says, voice unsteady, “but I can change what I _do_. Please allow me to show you, show you both,” he looks to Draco, “the man she would have wanted me to be.” 

Hermione nods, giving him a watery smile. 

Lucius mirrors her expression. “Thank you.” 

He drops his arms and walks over to Draco, pulling him into a hug. 

“Your mother loved you more than you could ever imagine,” he whispers. “And so do I.” 

Such simple words. Draco’s eyes fill with tears and he clasps his father tightly. After a deep, unsteady breath, he feels strong enough to let go. 

“Now,” Lucius says, looking between them. “I think I’ll have that walk in the garden.” 

Draco joins Hermione at the window. 

“Thank you for calling me over.” 

“Thank you for coming.” 

“Of course.” Hermione wipes her eyes. “He’s going to be okay,” she says on a relieved exhale. 

Draco’s heart skips a beat, and before the silence stretches for too long or his sudden swell of courage is defeated by common sense, he asks her to stay for supper. 

**The End**


End file.
